


Gravity

by beautifulwhensarcastic



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/pseuds/beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her sudden presence on his porch was like a blinding flare dispersing the thick darkness that surrounded him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

Red chips of paint clung to his hands like tiny, metallic blood-flakes, bringing back shards of every memory when his fingers were soaked with that warm, thick fluid, seeping through his fingers as he tried to press on wounds. Flashes of deep red splatters invaded Steve's mind, creating a horrific image of lifeless bodies covered in blood. Filling him with a shooting pain of helplessness and anger, bubbling under his skin with constant, bitter guilt. His own thoughts haunted him whenever he closed his eyes, screaming and spitting with venomous words, accusing, forcing blame onto himself. Whichever way he tried to process the horrid avalanche of events that twisted his life upside down, it always came back to that one thought - that he had failed.

Missions going awry weren't something completely new to him. There was always some level of guilt and sadness, especially when they lost men. Yet, despite the training and the years of experience, he was never prepared for  _this._

A bundle of sounds and images swirled in his head, evoking a throbbing pain, both physical and emotional. Freddie's face in the rear view mirror, his eyes slowly dulling in a turbid haze as his body shook with the impact of never ending bullets. The echo of his voice urging Steve to go was still all too real, although the sound of Freddie's laughter that still replayed in his head was more haunting. It reminded of the life he had before him, of the little life that should be entwined with his, but now was fated to grow up without her dad. Steve imagined those big, innocent eyes that would look up at him one day and ask why he let her dad die. Why did he leave him there without even trying to get his body back, without trying to get his best friend back home?

In the Navy they used to instill the higher-good argument in them, convincing them of the sacrifices that had to be made by a few so that thousands of others could be safe. Maybe Steve would be able to mourn his friend with the proper conviction that he died a hero for something important, if it wasn't all for nothing. If the call that Steve answered merely hours later, didn't turn everything to dust.

That night, right after he got a confirmation of his father's death, Steve couldn't shut out the cacophony of sounds racketing in his mind. Freddie's laughter was cruelly interspersed with his father's words, those words that softly but so intensely pierced through him until he couldn't breathe. But all of it seemed to be dulled by one low, heartrending scream, echoing in his head. It took him hours before he realized it was his own scream... Playing over and over again as flashes of memories flooded him.

It came back now.

As soon as he opened the red tool box, the word "champ" seemingly laughing at him, the ghosts and myriads of shredded thoughts filled him, filled the house, slowly suffocating him with an acidic guilt. He couldn't stop himself from looking at the spot where his father's blood covered the floor, probably seeping under the floorboards. Part of him wanted to get out of this house, run, away from this island that held way too many memories of loss and regret, but he couldn't run away that simply. He never wanted to leave in the first place, but he was a teenager and he didn't have a choice. Now it was his choice to finish whatever his father had started.

The toolbox in front of him looked so typical, so harmless, but the sight of it made his stomach clench. Like it was Pandora's Box that slowly spilled its poisonous essence onto him. The tiny chips of red paint covering his fingers seemed to needle through his skin, creeping into his blood, urging the chaos of nightmares to drive him mad.

Steve wasn't able to sleep. It had been over a week and he had only managed to get only a few hours per night when his body simply shut down like a broken machine that needed to charge itself back to life. But it wasn't a proper sleep, not even close to it. Only a few quarters of uneasy vigil that quickly evaded as soon as nightmares crept in, imprinting painful flashbacks on the back of his eyelids. There was no place, no routine, no sleeping position that could bring him at least one night of peaceful sleep.

When the faint sound of knocking broke through the chaotic tangle of voices and screams in his head, Steve barely recognized it as something real. With the flood of memories and guilty what-if's, he had curtailed his contact with reality. But the knocking continued, finally shaking him from his thoughts for a moment.

Glancing at his clock he tensed momentarily. One in the morning. Somehow the last hour had passed without him noticing. He forced himself to get up, his whole body was so tense each of his muscles clenched painfully when he straightened. Having visitors at one in the morning never meant anything good, but he wouldn't be surprised if life wanted to kick him to the ground yet again, even though he was already barely keeping himself together. He opened the door slowly, but froze sharply at the sight before him.

Creased cammies clung to her body, a clear sign of long hours spent on a plane. Few strands of dark hair fell around her neck, sticking to her skin, dewy with sweat. The dim light coming out of the house framed her silhouette, barely illuminating her streamlined, delicate face. But Steve instantly knew who it was. If he didn't see those rich brown eyes speckled with golden flecks, or recognize her soft voice as she simply said  _Hi_ , he would have known anyway. His heart reacted, stilling abruptly then thumping happily whenever she was beside him. He could not look at her and yet he always knew when she was around.

Her sudden presence on his porch was like a blinding flare dispersing the thick darkness that surrounded him. Dark, overwhelming thoughts that clung to him now disappeared for a brief moment of relief that her presence brought.

"Catherine," his voice cracked as he whispered her name.

The trembling, pleading tone betrayed his desperate hope for her to be real, that she wouldn't prove to be only a cruel trick played by his mind. He could stand the nightmares, all those painful flashbacks that sipped through the veil of reality and confused him, but not her calming presence being taken away from him. Catherine was the only strength in his life that wasn't ostensible or changeable. Whatever was going on, she was always his linchpin, guiding him through hazy darkness.

It was the sound of her voice that appeased his breathing when he called her right before getting on the plane back here. Those short few minutes of talking to her suppressed his panic enough for him to function.

Steve reached for her so sharply, the force of it hitched Catherine's breath. He gripped at her desperately, arms embracing her tightly until she was pressed against him so close there wasn't even a millimetre of space between them. With one hand on her head he kept her close, breathing in the faint but familiar scent of freesia and bergamot. Relying on her petite form like on the last straw of life. For him it felt that way, as if she was the only reason his heart was still beating.

He let himself melt into this embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck, closing his eyes and for a brief moment relishing the lack of haunting images in his head. It was just her, only her. In his arms, on his mind, under his skin.

"Steve," she whispered his name, gripping at his shirt with the same need that he had as he nestled into her.

Months of craving his closeness built up the scary dark void that tormented her on those long nights spent alone. Now finally this emptiness could be fulfilled, though the cost of it was high and heartbreaking.

Cath couldn't fully delight with this hug as she felt Steve lean into her with all strength he had left. His heart beating rapidly as he let himself crumble, shaking like a leaf within her arms.

"I'm so sorry," Catherine said, her throat tight. Her fingers caressed the skin on the nape of his neck gently when he tightened his embrace, his strong body softening vulnerably.

Minutes passed as they remained entwined, their breathing synchronizing in the same steady rhythm. Steve stirred, feeling her body shiver slightly when a brisk breeze swept through the still open door. Slowly straightening, he loosened his grip around her, though he wasn't able to let her out of his arms completely.

His eyes roamed over her face in disbelief, their hazel tint brightening with a tinge of hope as his thumb brushed over her lips and she kissed it lightly. "How did you..." Steve's voice was barely a whisper.

"Sorry I couldn't be here for the funeral... I tried to, but even with the threatening and cashing in favors it wasn't possible to get here sooner than tonight and..."

Steve didn't even let her finish as he crashed his mouth onto hers. The kiss was soft even though it was filled with despair and longing.  _God_ , he vividly remembered the last time they kissed, but it was so long ago that now it seemed to be only a fleeting dream. Nothing compared to the softness of Cath's lips and the faint taste of chocolate lingering in the corners of her mouth. A small gasp escaped her lips when he finally released her.

"You're here now," he sighed, smiling lightly. His eyelids closing for a moment when Cath cupped his face with her warm hands.

Her fingertips traced the lines of his face, the creases serving as natural signs of worry and his constant inner battles. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed the sleeplessness. Many times she saw him tired, hurt and wounded, stressed with the outcomes of gruesome missions, but there was always a hint of his calm playful demeanor underneath, which seemed to be completely gone now. The Steve she was looking at now was shaken and broken, a shadow of the man she knew. Catherine's heart ached at the thought of the pain he must have felt, the nightmares that tormented his mind and the great burden of guilt that he surely put on himself.

"Steve... When was the last time you ate?" she asked worriedly, brushing his cheeks with her thumbs. He looked thinner and pale, probably living on his survival mode for the past week, providing his body only with the needed minimum,, and working out the tension in exhausting swims in the cold ocean.

"I had lunch," he shrugged. Keeping one hand on the small of her back, he reached the other one out for her duffel bag and then closed the door.

Catherine sighed, gripping his arms and forcing him to look at her. "Listen, sailor. If you don't mind, I'm gonna take a shower. And then we're going to eat something, okay?" She wasn't able to erase all of his troubles, but at least she could make sure he was taking care of himself. Even if only for those mere two days she was going to be here.

She looked at him strictly until he nodded. "Good. Now point me to the bathroom," she leaned for her duffel bag, but Steve quickly picked it up, casting it over his arm. He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers together as he led her up the stairs.

It was the first time she was in his house. She couldn't keep herself from looking around a bit, feeling somehow shy and nervous. They were never paying much attention to places where they spent time, most of it being hotel rooms or narrow spaces unabashedly used in the heat of the moment. Being in Steve's house, in his family's home, was a whole different experience. It felt like he was letting her into the most private, guarded part of his life. Unlike Catherine, Steve didn't feel any nervousness. Her presence brought something that this house had needed for a really long time - happiness. When he had stepped back into the house an hour after he had landed, he definitely didn't feel happy. Not yet. But something told him he might feel it again one day.

A small doze of that feeling took over him as he watched her step slowly into his bedroom. Placing her bag by the wall, his eyes followed her every move. She looked around, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It was only a bit bigger than the tiny spaces on the Enterprise, but she didn't seem to mind it.

Cath didn't even pay attention to the small space or the rickety bed, she was overwhelmed with the smell. It simply smelled of Steve. A mix of ocean, sun and the slightest hint of coconut. And suddenly she felt so relaxed and safe, like she never left his arms.

When she disappeared into the bathroom, Steve sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes glued to the ajar bathroom door. The narrow stream of light coming through that chink teased him slightly with the promise of what was behind that door. His personal light that dispersed chaotic darkness of his own thoughts, in the form of a woman who, for no logical reason, was by his side whenever he needed it. And he did need her now like never before. His hands, still flecked with red chips of paint, started shaking again. It seemed like nowadays he was in full control only when he was holding a gun or rushing his adrenaline out in a car chase or in a fight, and the realization scared the hell out of him. Throughout most of the course of his duty he fought hard to keep his humanity, and he certainly didn't want to lose it now.

Currently, he seemed to have only one anchor to hold on to.

He was getting impatient to touch her body again. No, not touch, to feel her. The softness, the warmth, her scent. To feel her heartbeat steadying his own. To finally embrace something full of life, that by some miracle didn't shatter in his bloodied hands.

Catherine stepped out clad only in his old Navy tee shirt, drops of water dripping from her wet hair, sliding down her neck, disappearing under the shirt. But he was mesmerized by her face, so beautiful and bright. Trying to memorize every detail for the empty nights he knew there would be in the future, so he could grasp at the peaceful image of her to survive the nightmares, just like he survived cold nights in god forsaken places all over the world. It was always her face that he dreamed about.

He buried his face in her belly, savoring the scent and warmth of her closeness. She was going to mention the promised meal, but as he reached for her, holding onto her for dear life, she knew food really was the last of his concerns. Steve trembled slightly as she gently ran her fingers through his hair.

"I lost them, Cath," his shaky voice vibrated on her skin and she felt an instant pang of ache. She could be strong and calm, because he needed her, but it didn't change the fact she wanted to break apart and cry over his pain. Especially knowing she would be crying for both of them, because knowing Steve he kept it all bottled up.

"I lost them. All of them," he rasped, fingers digging dipper into her skin, but she didn't even flinch.

He held onto her desperately, pleading with all his hope for her to stay with him. With all his world fallen apart, Catherine was the only safe point. Pulling him in so easily when it seemed he was too far gone into madness. Keeping his humanity, balancing him.

She was his gravity.

The force that sustained his faint hope in times of trouble and doubt. Her touch was light, but yet so much stronger than the chaotic voices trying to creep back into his mind. The hurt was still there, would probably be for a long time, but her presence made it slightly better, and that made all the difference.

"I know, Steve. I know," her gentle voice was the only thing she could offer. Never before had she felt so helpless. Tears pricked her eyes as she felt him shudder within her arms.

"I can't lose you too, Cath." His arms embraced her tightly, like he was afraid she would easily slip through his fingers.

Catherine's heart stopped for a moment, terrified and overwhelmed by the force of his plead. She leaned down, pressing her lips to the top of his head. "You're not going to lose me, Steve. I'm not going anywhere. Never will," she declared, her fingers trembling slightly, still slowly running through his hair.

It seemed like he held his breath for a long moment, before repeating hoarsely, "I'm not going to lose you."


End file.
